By the time Geralt returns, Wilhelm has arranged a pile of kindling close to a slab of stone jutting out from the cavern floor. Taking the ember from him, he carefully feeds it into the center of the pile. He stays squatted next to his infant campfire, watching the ember reach for the nearest bit of cornhusk.

"Wilhelm," he answers, eyes lifting for only a second.

Breathing in deep, he focuses on the thin tongue of flame that's just beginning to rise. He said that his magic wasn't working at all, but really it's just sparking the fire that stops him. He might be able to manipulate it now that it has started.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Then... There — he can feel the edge of the flame as if its heat actually brushes somewhere under his skin or in the folds of his brain. Slowly, he curves his hand, and the fire stretches a little taller. When he sees that it's actually responding to him, a smile flickers on his lips.